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The worthy thane of Rosse.
Len. What a haste looks through his eyes! So
should he look,
That seems to speak things strange.
God save the king!
From Fife, great king,
Dun. Whence cam'st thou, worthy thane?
Where the Norweyan banners flout the sky,
Norway himself, with terrible numbers,
The thane of Cawdor, 'gan a dismal conflict:
Point against point rebellious, arm 'gainst arm,
Rosse. That now
Sweno, the Norways' king, craves composition;
Nor would we deign him burial of his men,
Till he disbursed, at Saint Colmes' inch,
Ten thousand dollars to our general use.
Dun. No more that thane of Cawdor shall de
Our bosom interest:-Go, pronounce his death,
Rosse. I'll see it done.
Dun. What he hath lost, noble Macbeth hath
Thunder. Enter the three Witches.
1 Witch. Where hast thou been, sister?
2 Witch. Killing swine.
3 Witch. Sister, where thou?
1 Witch. A sailor's wife had chesnuts in her lap, And mounch'd, and mounch'd, and mounch'd:Give me, quoth I:
Aroint thee, witch! the rump-fed ronyon cries.
And, like a rat without a tail,
2 Witch. I'll give thee a wind.
1 Witch. Thou art kind.
3 Witch. And I another.
1 Witch. I myself have all the other;
And the very ports they blow,
All the quarters that they know
I will drain him dry as hay:
Look what I have.
2 Witch. Show me, show me.
1 Witch. Here I have a pilot's thumb, Wreck'd, as homeward he did come.
3 Witch. A drum, a drum;
Macbeth doth come.
All. The wierd sisters, hand in hand, Posters of the sea and land,
Thus do go about, about;
Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine,
Enter Macbeth and Banquo.
Mac. So foul and fair a day I have not seen. Ban. How far is't call'd to Fores?-What are
So wither'd, and so wild in their attire;
That look not like the inhabitants o'the earth,
By each at once her choppy finger laying
Upon her skinny lips :-You should be women,
Speak, if you can;-What are you? 1 Witch. All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, thane
2 Witch. All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, thane of Cawdor.
3 Witch. All hail, Macbeth! that shalt be king
Ban. Good sir, why do you start; and seem to fear
Things that do sound so fair?-I'the name of truth, Are ye fantastical, or that indeed
Which outwardly ye show? My noble partner
present grace, and great prediction Of noble having, and of royal hope,
That he seems rapt withal; to me you speak not:
And say, which grain will grow, and which will not;
1 Witch. Hail!
2 Witch. Hail!
3 Witch. Hail!
1 Witch. Lesser than Macbeth, and greater. 2 Witch. Not so happy, yet much happier.
3 Witch. Thou shalt get kings, though thou be
So, all hail, Macbeth, and Banquo!
1 Witch. Banquo, and Macbeth, all hail!
Mac. Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me
By Sinel's death, I know, I am thane of Glamis;
No more than to be Cawdor. Say, from whence
With such prophetick greeting?-Speak, I charge
[Witches vanish. Ban. The earth hath bubbles, as the water has, And these are of them:-Whither are they vanish'd? Mac. Into the air; and what seem'd corporal,
As breath into the wind.-'Would they had staid!
Mac. Your children shall be kings.
You shall be king.
Mac. And thane of Cawdor too; went it not so? Ban. To the self-same tune, and words.
Enter Rosse and Angus.
Rosse. The king hath happily receiv'd, Macbeth,
Which should be thine, or his: Silenc'd with that,
We are sent,